


These Two

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Fem!Mickey, Lesbian Power Couple, cis girl Ian, cis girl Mickey, fem!ian, girlyvich - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:23:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey and Ian are lesbians in South Side Chicago. Everything is fucked up completely but when they're around each other they don't feel that way. Pretty much same as the show except Ian and Mickey are both cisgendered girls. Picture a gritty Michelle Trachtenberg as Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“But that bitch called me a dyke!” Mickey yelled, twisting around to see the man who had rolled up, thinking he was all smooth, asking you dykes need a ride somewhere? Like a hotel room? Or my dick?  
Ian had laughed because Ian laughed at these things. Mickey felt the familiar white hot rage sweep through her because fuck that guy. “Come on,” whispered Ian in Mickey’s ear. “Who gives a fuck?”  
Anyways, you are a dyke, Ian was probably silently thinking. Fuck that, thought Mickey. These days she could hardly if she was thinking her own thoughts or guessing what Ian was thinking or her thoughts about what Ian was thinking or some coupley shit.  
“Aight,” said Mickey. “Jesus fuck. Let’s go home. I hate this fucking place anyway.”  
Ian tucked Mickey under her arm as they walked away from The Fairy Tale.   
Ian was a great dancer because she hovered in that precarious space between she looks too innocent to be on that stage to I wanna destroy that. It was her appeal, according to fucking Gavin.   
“Look, why you got her in the section with all the geriatrics?” Mickey had asked Gavin once.   
“She got a look old guys like,” said Gavin, staring blatantly at Mickey’s girlfriend. Mickey fought the urge to kill him. “What look is that?” she snapped.   
“She’s cute and young, looks hungry…like she’ll do anything for a buck. These guys have money to burn. They don’t go for the C scar Mommy and me bitches. They like em young.”  
“Ian’s not hungry,” growled Mickey. She wasn’t, right? Mickey wasn’t the greatest cook but Sven and Yev and Ian all ate together at least two nights a week, kinda like a family. Ian hadn’t seemed hungry. She never said anything.   
“Hey, don’t feel bad,” said Gavin, misinterpreting her silence. “You got a look too. The sexy don’t touch me I’ll kill you intimidation thing. I’d put you right there with the black girls,” he pointed. “Sassy, right?”  
“You racist piece of shit,” muttered Mickey but Ian was smiling at her from across the room because it was that stupid song they both liked that was playing and they needed this job and fuck fuck fuck.   
“Something for everyone,” said Gavin absently.   
“Don’t talk to me,” snapped Mickey, whacking him on the arm.   
“Cunt!” Gavin walked away, rubbing his arm.   
Ian hugged Mickey from behind. She smelled like old men and schnapps. “You done?”   
“Two more songs,” promised Ian.   
“You said that two songs ago.”  
“Hey, you don’t have to be here,” said Ian. “Though I like it when you come,” she whispered.   
Mickey did that melting thing she only did when Ian talked to her like that, dissolving into a pile of blushing nothing on the floor, a pile of nothing that would kill for Ian, steal for Ian and would certainly wait around a couple songs to make sure nobody touched her Ian.   
“Someone has to watch your ass, Anne of Green Gables.”  
“Alright, John McClaine,” said Ian.  
Mickey watched her get on stage and then she watched all those old men watch Ian climb on stage and she clenched her fists. Two more songs. 

If Mickey thought it was hard to watch Ian on stage then she had never seen herself in action, Ian thought. I mean, fuck, it was one thing for guys to look at you when you’re on a stage for their viewing pleasure, but its another to have guys hitting on your girlfriend all night long when said girlfriend mostly didn’t even realize it was happening. Fucking Gavin was almost on top of Mickey, looking at her arms in her tank top, at her tattoos…  
“People buy you drinks all night long!” Ian exploded.   
“Yeah! Free drinks!” said Mickey. “I’m gonna say no to free drinks?”  
“I don’t know! Maybe!”  
“Huh?”  
“Those guys are hitting on you, Mick! And you’re too stupid to see what’s happening!”  
“Ian, don’t be stupid. You’re the hot one,” said Mickey. “I’m the slutty, stupid one.”   
Who tries too hard, Mickey was probably thinking in her head.   
Bullshit, thought Ian. Bull fucking shit.   
She grabbed Mickey’s arm. “C’mon,” she said.   
The Fairy Tale had a shitty little bathroom with a full length mirror. People saw Ian’s lingerie and got out of her way, assuming it was an employee thing. The mirror was for prepping makeup between shows, for checking to see if there was vomit in your mouth for the bulimics and let’s be honest, mostly fucking. Ian had never used it before.   
“Everybody out!” she yelled.   
“What are you doing?” asked Mickey uneasily.   
Ian turned Mickey around so they were both facing the mirror.   
“You’re crazy hot,” she whispered, reaching around Mickey to push her dress up. Mickey bit her lip as Ian palmed her through her underwear.  
“And you’re beautiful,” continued Ian, gently pushing down the underwear, lightly pushing Mickey’s legs apart.   
Mickey was melting into Ian’s arms as Ian propped her up and forced her to watch as her fingers disappeared inside Mickey. Her legs were being shoved wider and wider apart as Ian pulled Mickey’s dress above her breasts. “And you’re smart,” she said, kissing a shoulder, tracing a collarbone, wet fingers in Mickey’s mouth. Mickey didn’t want to seem needy or desperate but she made a sound she had never made before. Ian seemed to like it. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you,” whispered Ian. “You’re wet for me...so sweet…can you come for me?”  
“COME ON! It’s been like twenty minutes! We don’t have all night!” yelled someone from outside the room.   
Mickey blinked and it was like waking up from a dream. “Shh,” soothed Ian. “Don’t worry.” Her hands kept moving, spreading Mickey apart, showing her to the mirror, the pink insides Mickey would have hated if Ian hadn’t loved them first, the tattoos she regretted and the ones she didn’t, tweaking a nipple, finally speeding up the pace and roughly shoving three fingers in and out of Mickey.  
“Look at the view,” breathed Ian. “You’re perfect, you’re my perfect girl, and you’re soaking wet and so tight…”  
Mickey came in Ian’s steady arms. Her eyes were wet, she realized, wiping her face to find clumps of mascara on her palm. Ian redressed Mickey like she was a doll, pulling on her underwear, pulling her dress down, repenciling in her eyeliner, tucking Mickey’s hair behind her ears, putting her back together.   
Ian wolfwhistled at the final view. “Fuck,” she said. “I need a picture.”  
“Don’t be stupid,” said Mickey but she couldn’t stop smiling.   
“I meant it,” said Ian, holding the door for Mickey, grabbing her hand. “You’re fucking perfect.”  
“Bullshit,” said Mickey. “You are.”  
Ian tightened her fingers around Mickey’s, thumb slowly stroking over the FUCK U UP tattoo Mickey had gotten on her twelfth birthday to prove something stupid to her brothers.   
Mickey helped Ian onto the stage.   
“Aw, get on up there with her,” someone yelled.   
“Yeah!”  
Mickey wasn’t a dancer. Mickey wasn’t the kind of person who liked being on stages. Mickey wasn’t the kind of person who liked most things.   
But Mickey loved Ian and Ian loved her and when Mickey glared at the crowd and went to the bar to watch her girlfriend and the assholes around her Ian loved her for it. Mickey clapped when Ian was done and Ian made a bow as a joke that wasn’t a joke. This whole thing, Mickey, letting Ian touch her, ages away from the Kash and Grab and Ned…the whole thing felt like an accomplishment of sorts, it really did. It felt perfect to her. It might have been Lillian Gallagher’s finest hour.


	2. At the Dugouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diverges slightly from canon. Mickey takes Ian to the dugouts.

“What, the Milkovich bitches? Which one?”  
“There’s a difference?”  
Jim laughed at Lip. “Not really,” he said. “Buy either one of them a can of beer and they’ll fuck you.”  
Jim and Lip stared across the room at the edges of the party where Mickey and Mandy were sitting together, glaring at the room.   
“Which one do you want?” said Jim. “The angry one or the snotty one?”  
Ian swallowed her drink in one gulp as she waited to hear the answer.   
“The snotty one,” said Lip. “She’s lookin’ at me.”  
“Be nice to Mandy!” Ian snapped.   
“Shit,” said Kev. “Forgot you were here.”  
Ian dumped her empty cup in Kev’s lap and wove unsteadily through the party to Mickey.   
Mickey. Wearing a hand me down plaid that was too big for her as a dress, most likely inherited from Iggy. Too much eyeliner. Didn’t look as short as she was. Combat boots. Halfheartedly making out with Andy Zago. Ian watched her and wondered how her heart could explode, every goddamn time she saw Mickey with a guy.   
Mickey was the one that got called a dyke because she was the one with the tattoos. Mandy fucked with drug dealers and pot heads and Mickey fucked with murderers and thieves. Mickey fucked scary people because they were less scary than what she had waiting for her at home. The scarier the person, the more of a distraction they were. Andy Zago wasn’t that scary or distracting so it was easy for Mickey to shove him off her and send Ian a furtive twitch of her brows that meant can we go for a walk and take me away from here, please.   
Ian hadn’t learned how to say no to Mickey yet.   
“Why the fuck did you come here tonight?” Ian huffed, trying to catch up with Mickey, who was basically running away from the party.   
Mickey shrugged, her shirt falling off one shoulder.   
“Can you…fucking…wait?” panted Ian. Mickey stopped walking.   
“Terry’s back,” said Mickey, lighting a cigarette.   
“But…”  
“But nothing,” snapped Mickey. “Why don’t you go back in there and hang out with fucking Mandy?”  
Ian and Mandy had kissed once at a party and Mickey had never forgotten it.   
“You’re not attracted to me?” Mandy said anxiously, hugging her knees, staring at Ian out of the corner of her eyes. “I know you like girls…” So I thought you liked me. The unspoken words hung in the air.   
Mickey wouldn’t have said anything in the same situation. She would have laid on her bed and pretended to sleep until Ian left and she would never have spoken to her again.   
Then Mandy had gotten a series of boyfriends and it hadn’t mattered.   
Ian wasn’t attracted to Mandy because she wasn’t Mickey. She wasn’t angry rough rude sad soft sweet complicated frustrating infuriating Mickey. She just wasn’t. Ian loved Mandy, she really did, but not like that. Nobody got Ian’s blood going like Mickey. No one made her angrier, soppier or sadder. Mickey turned Ian into a mess and Ian liked it. Loved it. Loved her. Had for a while even when Mickey had demanded she stop. Love didn’t work like that. Mickey didn’t work like that. Ian kept the words deep inside her for a day when Mickey might want to hear it. Mickey was beautiful and important and Ian had all kinds of feelings stashed away inside her about it.   
“Because I want to hang out with you,” said Ian, quietly tagging along.   
Mickey flopped down to the ground of the dugouts. “Everything was so good,” she muttered quietly and Ian was shocked to see Mickey’s eyes full of tears.   
Secret glances over aisles and counters, rendezvous in the freezer that left them both feeling high, late night meetings on park benches where they talked until they fucked or vice versa, driving around in borrowed cars until the sun rose...  
Ian gently put her hand on the nape of Mickey’s neck. “I know,” she said.   
“You don’t fucking know,” muttered Mickey angrily but she let Ian’s hand stay on her neck.  
Eventually Ian looked at Mickey and thought about kissing her but Mickey slid a hand into her pants and under her shirt and everywhere again and Ian stopped thinking at all.   
Please let everything be the same, Ian thought. Please please please.  
“Come on, Gallagher,” moaned Mickey from under her. “That all ya got?”  
Ian fucked Mickey at a painfully brutal pace, the way Mickey liked it, until Mickey was soaking wet and breathless. She opened her mouth on Mickey’s clit and felt Mickey shove her hands into her hair. Small wonders. Ian would take what she could get these days.   
There was always a certain point with them where Mickey begged and pleaded and mumbled and Ian thought she had Mickey, really had her, because Mickey was there with her and would do anything to keep Ian there. Ian had slept with other women. There was always that point during sex when you thought you had some kind of power, a reason to matter in the other person’s life, that you finally found a place you fit, but that usually dissipated when your partner came. With Mickey the feeling of desperation stayed.   
“Ian…I’m close,” Mickey choked out.   
Ian didn’t let up. Her whole world narrowed to in between Mickey’s legs. That was all there was.   
“Oh…” muttered Mickey, eyes closed.   
Ian kept Mickey there, hovering.  
“Shit, I’m here, Ian,” said Mickey. “Ian…fuck, Ian. I’m right here.”  
She said what Ian needed to hear and Ian let her come, switching from mouth to fingers, moving up to watch Mickey’s face, shirt rolled up to her armpits, sweaty and pale, open and unguarded and Ian saw it all.   
“Damn, that was good,” said Mickey, rooting limply around for her shoes.   
Ian was silent.   
Mickey glanced at her. “Wasn’t it?” she said.   
“It was,” said Ian. It really was, all of it. She stood up.   
“M’tired,” said Mickey, leaning back.   
“You wanna stay here?” said Ian.   
Mickey looked around warily, calculating the risk of making Ian happy. “Alright,” said Mick.  
Ian beamed. The morning was still a few hours away.   
Mickey smiled back at her. She couldn’t help it.


	3. Pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey gets pregnant and they both fall apart. Warning for indirect mention of rape. Drugs. Lot of angst. Love wins.

Pregnant

“Look, I know you guys were friends, okay?” said Mandy. “You need to go see her.”  
Ian ran her hands through her newly shorn hair.   
“She’s pregnant,” said Mandy. “Three months in.”  
Ian reacted violently. Her eye twitched and she couldn’t breathe.  
“She’s getting married,” said Mandy. “To Sven.”  
Ian was frozen in the school hallway while people passed them by.   
“She didn’t want this,” said Mandy.   
Ian was crumbling, Mandy was surrounding her, protecting her, and Ian remembered how much she loved Mandy, loved the Milkovich girls, loved Mickey, and she hated herself for getting attached.   
Sven wasn’t a bad guy, per say. He was a burly Russian with a sort of gloomy charisma who gave hand jobs for a living. Mickey got pregnant. Mickey got depressed. Mickey got married. Ian hated him. 

“Ian,” Mickey croaked. Four months pregnant in an abandoned building.   
“You’re really pregnant,” said Ian. “Fuck.”  
They both tried to forget the day she got pregnant.   
“Why the fuck didn’t you get rid of it?” Ian snapped.   
Mickey bit her lip. I didn’t have the money. Terry was there. I didn’t know until it was too late. I tried. “Who cares?” she said.   
“I care,” said Ian, hurtling across the room to Mickey. “Don’t get married,” she said.   
“I don’t have a fucking choice.”  
“Yes, you do!”  
Mickey stared at her. Her body had changed out from under her, inhabiting another life in it, and she would never be the fucking same. Ian wouldn’t want to fuck her with her stretch marks and an infant attacking her tits. Ian looked as beautiful as ever.   
“If you give half a shit about me don’t do this,” said Ian.   
Mickey looked away.  
“Half,” said Ian.   
Then Mickey was barreling toward Ian and kissing her desperately. Mickey tasted as sweet as Ian remembered. Sweeter even. 

Five months pregnant.   
Afterward Ian put a hand on Mickey’s stomach and felt the thing inside it kick.   
“Do you want it?” she whispered.   
Mickey tried not to cry. “Fuck no,” she said.   
“I’ll help you,” said Ian. “Let me help you.”  
“What the fuck can you do?” Mickey snapped.  
Ian was flooded with memories of a sleepover, of an angry Terry calling Sven, of Sven pushing Mickey’s pants down, Mickey going blank, watching her until she couldn’t anymore.  
Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand, the one with the wedding ring. Ian was fucking other people already because she was falling apart. Mickey was smoking like a chimney, spending hours alone practicing shooting targets because she was crumbling.   
Mickey’s center of gravity was off and she was falling down a lot. She hadn’t said more than five words to Sven. He hovered sometimes, checking to see if she was okay, wordlessly passing her water bottles and Mickey threw them across the room. 

Eight months.   
Ian had been gone for a while.  
Mickey kissed her (how hard it had been just to get Mickey to do that and now Mickey was kissing any part of Ian she could reach but it was ruined-) and Ian stayed still, feeling like no time had passed, savoring it, hollow as the victory was.   
“What, you don’t want to bang anymore?” said Mickey. “I’m too fucking fat now?”  
Ian looked at her carefully. Everything about Mickey was heightened, wilder. Her skin was paler, her hair was darker, her tattoos were sloppier, her hands were shakier, her gait was slower, her body was thicker. Only her eyes were as blue as they ever were.   
“I always want you,” said Ian. Mickey let out a shaky breath and Ian realized how worried Mickey had been, just about this, and it killed her to think Mickey wasn’t sure of her, after all this time because she kept leaving. Ian couldn’t bear to stay. Mandy stayed with Mickey instead.  
It wasn’t a lie. Mickey was somehow glowing with a rage that lit her up from within. It fascinated and terrified Ian.   
“Me too,” muttered Mickey, reaching for Ian but Ian pushed Mickey’s hands above her head and held them there, moving her body on top of Mickey instead. Mickey closed her eyes. Ian didn’t ask her to open them. 

Yevgeny, Sven named it. It was a bullshit name. Mandy called Ian about it.   
“Jenny! Phone call!” screeched Gavin.   
Ian went to the phone. Glitter in her eyes.   
“She had the kid,” said Mandy without preamble. “Boy. He’s fine.”  
Ian’s hands whitened around the phone.   
“Is she?”  
Mandy was saying something but the roaring in Ian’s ears didn’t let her hear it. It didn’t feel right to talk about Mickey at the Fairy Tale. 

“Are you going to breastfeed?” asked the nurse.  
“Fuck no,” snapped Mickey.   
“You want to hold him?” asked Sven tentatively.   
“Take me home,” said Mickey.   
The nurses wheeled her out silently and she scared them all. Sven nuzzled the baby the whole car ride home.   
I had the kid. I’m done, thought Mickey. Straight as a fucking rod. Fucked for life. 

The dugouts were cold in January but Mickey didn’t feel it. Ian watched her intently from across the field. Mickey looked frail in a tank top that had once been Mandy’s. She was rolling herself a joint. She was drinking alone. She was looking at the sky.   
“You aren’t cold?” said Ian.  
Three beers in, Mickey just shrugged.   
“Can I sit?”  
Mickey rolled her eyes. Ian would have recognized that trademark Milkovich disgust anywhere.   
“How’s the kid?” asked Ian.   
“Fuck if I know,” said Mickey. I’m a shit mom. I can’t even look at the thing.   
“Hey,” Ian soothed. “It’s over.”  
Mickey flicked the remains of her joint into the night. “Ha!”  
Ian draped her coat around Mickey. Mickey nodded absently.   
Ian’s hands drifted to her waist, pulled Mickey’s top up, traced the stretch marks that were already fading.   
“Tiger scratches,” she whispered.   
“Dumbass,” said Mickey.   
“Looks like you fought a lion and won,” continued Ian.   
Mickey’s belly shook when Ian tickled it.   
Mickey yanked her shirt down. “Don’t,” she said.  
“Hey, you’re not the only champion around here, Miss Mikaela,” said Ian, shoving her arm in Mickey’s face. Mickey’s eyes widened at the track marks there, touching them hesitantly.   
“Hey, it’s just battle scars,” said Ian. “Trophies. Winners.”  
“Fuckhead,” said Mickey. “I missed ya.”  
Ian found Mickey’s hand, held it.   
“Leanne-“ Mickey started, quiet.  
“I’m here now,” Ian said, squeezing the hand she held, trying not to hold on too tight, failing miserably.


	4. Aunt Flo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Mick both get their periods. Lip comes over. Mick doesn't feel like sex. Fluffy kittens.

Aunt Flo  
“Mickkkeeeyy,” Ian murmured, staring creepily at her girlfriend.  
“What?” Mickey said snappishly.  
“Come here,” Ian whispered. “I need you.”  
“You joking, Gallagher?”  
“Gallagher?” hollered Ian. “You see Lip anywhere? I have a name!”  
“Sorry, Ian,” Mickey rolled her eyes. “Jeez, you get snappy when Aunt Flo rolls in on you.”  
Ian almost coughed up a lung laughing. “What kind of a gangster is Aunt Flo?”  
“The kind that’s basically fuckin’ killing me, alright?”  
“Hey,” soothed Ian, rubbing Mick’s belly. “Aunt Flo’s not the only one who can roll in on you.”  
Ian maneuvered her hand under Mickey’s shirt.  
“What the fuck? Ian, get off me, I aint in the mood!”  
Ian crossed her arms and stared at Mickey. “You’re not the only one in pain,” she said.  
“Yeah, you seem real pained,” said Mickey.  
“Shhh,” whispered Ian, trying not to laugh.  
They were quiet for five minutes until Ian started to panic.  
“I can’t believe you don’t want to have sex,” muttered Ian. She ran her hands through her currently scraggly hair and ripped her shirt off violently. Maybe Mickey was angling for a noncrazy girlfriend with bigger tits who didn’t bother when she had cramps. Maybe Mickey was fucking with her, and moving in together was one big fat joke, and Mickey didn’t want her at all.  
Ian got off the bed. Mickey grabbed her.  
“Yo, where are you going?” said Mickey.  
“Out.”  
“Uh uh. Nobody takes my jumbo size comfort blanket away when I’m sleeping, okay?”  
“Jumbo?”  
“That’s what you focus on? Dude, you’re a giant. A hot giant. But still a giant.”  
“Why?” said Ian. “Seems like you could sleep just fine anywhere.”  
Mickey sat up. “Look, Ian, I feel like I’m dying with these cramps and my mind is telling me to jump out that window and all I wanna fucking do is lie down with my perpetually horny girlfriend and go back to sleep! Can we do that?”  
“Can I pee first?”  
Mickey laughed. Finally. “I ain’t your keeper,” she said.  
Ian swooped in for a kiss. “Except that you are,” Ian whispered.  
“Later,” said Mickey. “When I’m off all this shit I want you to fuck me till I’m crying.”  
Ian’s grip tightened on her and she laid back down.  
“What happened to the bathroom?” said Mickey.  
“That was a lie,” said Ian.  
“Dumb thing to lie about,” mumbled Mickey, smiling, Ian’s leg already flung over her’s.  
Lip came over while they were sleeping, banged on the door until Mickey opened it.  
“What the fuck?” complained Mickey.  
Lip took a minute to look at her dressed in one of Ian’s sweatpants and a sports bra.  
“Nice pants,” he said. “Used to be mine.”  
Mickey turned around, stomped into the kitchen. “Creepy motherfucker.”  
“Not so creepy,” said Lip. “Everything Ian has used to be mine.”  
“Ew,” said Mickey.  
“Not everything,” said Ian, appearing at the doorway.  
“Alright,” said Lip. “I brought dinner.”  
Mickey slapped Ian’s ass and actually giggled.  
“Alright, I was gonna eat with you but I can tell its gonna be the Twilight Zone third wheeling it here with you two so…I’m out,” said Lip finally.  
“Text me later,” said Ian, looking for the hot sauce.  
“Don’t bother,” said Mickey.  
“God,” whined Lip, backing out. “There’s no room for me here. There’s like no room for anyone who isn’t you two here.”  
Mickey’s smug smile was a thing to behold.  
“Shut up, Lip,” said Ian at the same time Mickey mumbled “Jealous little bitch.”  
Lip protested but for real, it was hard to pretend that he wasn’t. Everything Ian had going on seemed to be working. Who wouldn’t be jealous?


End file.
